Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [121]
To say the company enjoyed this show would not be kind. Hawkeswell’s allusion to a challenge sharpened attention that was already well honed, however.
“There cannot be slander in the truth,” Daphne said. “But do not take my word alone.”
She turned to the doorway. Margaret’s cap disappeared. Then a scuffle of footsteps caused the people standing over there to part.
Margaret, her red hair uncovered now, walked forward. Two women followed. All were dressed modestly in simple dresses. They gathered around Daphne. Margaret held her own, but the other two cowered under the hard gazes of all these fine people.
“Tell them,” she said quietly.
“I’ll not stand for this,” Latham exclaimed. He took two strides toward leaving, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. The hand stayed there and appeared to cause some pain. Mr. Albrighton, to whom that grip belonged, appeared unaware that it might be uncomfortable.
“You should hear the women out, sir. You can’t adequately deny what you have not heard.”
Whether Latham accepted the sense of that or simply could not move while that hand rested there, he strode no farther.
“I was a maid in Lord Becksbridge’s home before Miss Avonleah arrived,” Margaret said. She told how Latham had grabbed her as she crossed a field and forced himself on her.
The oldest of them, Emma, lost her fear then. “He was no more than fifteen when he held a knife to me. Threatened to kill me in my sleep if I told anyone.”
The last woman was Susan. Small and frail and trembling from this attention and Latham’s presence, she spoke very quietly. “I was only fifteen, and he much older by then. I was so ignorant still, I did not know what he was doing, except that he hurt me and I bled.”
She hid her face in Daphne’s breast as soon as it was done. Daphne held her and soothed her while all hell let loose in the chamber.
Latham was in fine form, playing the victim of a malicious plot. A good many of the company seemed inclined to agree with him.
The plump, affable uncle appeared less than convinced but not as glaring as before. “There is no proof of this except their tales, of course.”
“The last duke knew it all,” Daphne said. “He tried to compensate them. All three were found living on lands he held until his death, at no cost. All three received allowances from him. His accounts should show the money, even if there were not leases.”
That uncle glanced sidewise at Latham with a skeptical eye. “It should be easy enough to disprove, then.”
“It is not for me to disprove but for them to prove,” Latham said with exasperation. “If there were payments, perhaps he made them for another purpose. Perhaps he paid for his own sins. He certainly was not paying for mine.”
“Are you impugning my dead brother’s honor? Your own father?”
“I am saying once more that there is no proof, and these women are all liars.”
Everyone had an opinion on that. Outrage, doubts, and arguments raged through the air. Daphne held Susan and Emma and prayed this ordeal she had asked of them proved worth it.
“There is more than their word as proof, I assure you,” a voice said.
It had come from the doorway. Although it had not been spoken loudly, everyone turned in that direction.
Castleford stood there, managing to appear bemused at the same time as indifferent. He stepped into the chamber and looked around, both enjoying the attention he garnered and showing the potential for irritation of the same.
He greeted a few of the company, then noticed Latham’s uncles. “Ah, bishop one and bishop two. How redundant. Did your older brother not come? Perhaps he is still in a melancholy that Latham survived his father.”
“See here, Castleford, that is in very bad taste,” a gentleman muttered. “As is this entire spectacle.”
“But you are still here, aren’t you?”
He had not looked directly at Daphne so far, but he did now. He did not voice his thoughts, but they were in his eyes. His displeasure streamed through the air to her.
“You say there